A Bird's End
by Zothar
Summary: Tony watches as they lower him into the ground. Sequel to Closure.
1. Death of a Bird

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Tony wanted to head slap himself for that one.

He stood tall, his usually amiable face impassive, as they lowered the coffin. The simple, yet elegent wooden design was strong. Just like the doctor it held.

It wasn't raining. It should have been, he knows. With low rumbles of thunder calling mournfully across the sky, and the wind just strong enough to numb the pain. It was a cliché he could have lived with at the moment. But instead, the sun shone down brightly. Even a bird was singing in the background. A damn bird, mocking them and their reverence.

Ziva stood by his side, the tear marks still visible, still running on her face. The death of Mike Franks had hit her hard; this had nearly broken her. The hard Mossod assassin was slowly crumbling inside. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he reached an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close. As she accepted, she buried her head into his shoulder and began to cry quietly.

Abby and McGee stood just off to the side, her arms wrapped around his neck as he hugged her back. Both faces were stained by tears, Abby's makeup smeared and running down her cheeks. Beyond them, Vance stood tall and strong, arms held behind his back, and guilt flooding his eyes.

Palmer stood behind with his new wife at his side. His face was ashen, almost gray, as he squeezed her hand. Tony offered a sad smile to the new medical examiner, who looked away ashamedly. His clenched fist held broken glasses as he bit back a sob, holding his wife's hand even tighter.

The coffin finally sat within the ground. Leroy Jethro Gibbs slowly approached his masterpiece, the sole occupant of his basement of late. On the top was a carved swan, head raised in an endless song. He knelt, resting his hand on the smooth wood. Everyone surrounding them stayed silent, respecting his final farewell for an old friend.

And then they buried him.

The crowd began to disperse, leaving the eight members of the team eventually alone. Vance took a deep breath, letting it out evenly. He turned towards the rest of the team.

"You... you guys have the rest of the day off," he breathed, eyes downcast. He made a move to look at his watch, and then walked away, followed by Palmer and his wife. Tony turned towards McGee, who nodded in response. He whispered to Abby, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and then started walking with her towards the car.

Tony gave Ziva a final squeeze, relaxing his grip on her as she looked up at him. He smiled down as sincerely as he could without cracking.

"My place tonight, with Tim and Abby."

She nodded, sniffing, wiping her eyes, and managed a sad smile back. Tony gave her shoulder a squeeze, letting go as she turned to follow the others.

Gibbs had not yet moved from where he was standing. Tony walked slowly over, worry for his boss outweighing his apprehension of disturbing him.

"Hey, boss," he said softly, "The rest of us are going to my place. You gonna be okay?"

Gibbs didn't turn, didn't move at all as he answered. "Go home, DiNozzo," he breathed. It hadn't been an order, just a suggestion. Tony hesitated.

"Gibbs?"

Gibbs finally turned, looking at Tony with dead eyes. All emotion, all life seemed to have drained from him. He nodded towards the retreating cars. "They need you, Tony. I'll be fine."

Tony nodded, turned, and walked away. Gibbs watched him go, following his car until it went out of sight. The tombstone before him was simple and elegant. He read the epitaph, but none of the words reached his eyes.

"Is that all you've got for me, Duck?" he asked solemnly, looking upward. The sky had finally begun to gray as the wind picked up. It blew, sending soft, gentle rain to his face, taking the place of his tears. Thunder rolled in a low lament, circling the Navy graveyard. In his mind, Gibbs remembered Mike Frank's parting words.

"So long, Duck."


	2. Final Ghost

He scraped the woodwork, sweatpants and a t-shirt lightly dampened from the exertion. The birdhouse was coming along nicely; it looked just like the other two dozen he had given to his father. Still, after each one, his old man still smiled and said thank you for the birthday present. And he always had a place to put it as well.

Gibbs would have smiled at that thought, normally.

Jackson was a lot like Ducky. Both were older and insightful, both had stories dating back generations. Both could also be stubborn as hell. And both had earned his love.

"I am honored, Jethro, that you would hold me on the same level as your father."

Gibbs let out a deep breath, not bothering to look behind him. "Is this gonna happen every time somebody dies? Mike Franks hitch a ride with you?" he asked, almost bitterly.

A slight chuckle was his answer. "Mike Franks is a ghost you have put behind you, Jethro. He is one you have allowed to rest in peace, along with Director Sheppard and Kate."

"But not you."

"No, not me," agreed his friend.

"So how have I not let you go, Duck?" Gibbs asked, turning to face his dead comrade. He leaned onto his working table, spreading his hands curiously.

Ducky smiled. "Considering that I am in your mind, my psychological profiling may not be all that you would have hoped. However, I do believe that you hold the answer to this yourself."

Gibbs scoffed. "Is that some sort of riddle, Ducky?"

Dr. Mallard laughed softly, leaning back against the opposite desk. "Yes, well, that was a bit vague, I'll admit. However, it is nonetheless true. Reminds me of a time, around forty years ago now. I was studying some ancient hieroglyphics, painted, we believed by the Egyptians..."

"Ducky, not while you're in my head."

Again he smiled. "Yes, I understand."

A long moment of silence passed between them, the kind you only see between ageless friends. Gibbs dropped his gaze, hands folded in front of his waist.

"I'm gonna get this son of a bitch," he said softly.

Ducky stood, his features becoming grave. "Yes, Jethro, you will. But what is your motivation?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." The doctor took another step towards him. "Jethro, there are plenty of reasons why you need to bring Dowing in. In all truth, there are plenty of reasons he should die. But my death should not be one of them. Nor the injuries dealt to Antony, Abby, Timothy or Ziva."

"And why the hell not?" Gibbs growled angrily, clenching the corner of the wooden table.

"Because," Ducky continued, voice firm, "as soon as you make any one of those your chief reasons, and as soon as this hunt turns into a quest to repay him for the pain he has dealt you, you have become the man you are trying to catch."

Gibbs stood still as the truth sunk in. Ducky's face softened. "Jethro, there was nothing you could have done. My heart simply failed me. The news of the bomb gave it a push, but it was going to happen eventually."

Gibbs stayed silent and Ducky looked straight into his eyes. "You need to catch this man, Jethro. But you need to do it for the right reasons."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Gibbs' face. "I always could count on you to bring me to my senses, Duck."

"Well what are friends for? And speaking of friends, it is time you allowed yourself to be near them." Gibbs started to protest, but Ducky raised a hand. "You claim you do not need them. But regardless, they need you, Jethro. Especially one Antony DiNozzo. He has bared the brunt of the other's emotional weight, as he usually does. And if my evaluation is correct, he will need someone to turn to as well."

Gibbs nodded again, and then reached out a hand towards his oldest friend. As soon as it made contact, the apparition vanished, leaving him alone in his basement once again. Wearily, Gibbs looked up.

"Thanks again, Duck."

Turning, he grabbed his coat and keys, walked up the stairs, and shut the door behind him.


End file.
